Where the Lonely Ones Roam
by aghamora
Summary: Instead of Marius, it is Inspector Javert who finds himself the object of Éponine's obsession. - - Éponine/Javert, oneshot.


**Summary: **Instead of Marius, it is Inspector Javert who finds himself the object of Éponine's obsession. - - Éponine/Javert, oneshot.

**Note: **This was inspired by a few prompts over on the Les Mis Kink Meme:

'Éponine tries to hide her attraction to Javert from all the people she knows.'

'He arrests her and she tries to persuade him to let her go.'

And I don't know, I just sort of combined them…and this was born. The plot could probably be fleshed out much more than I've done, but I really wanted to write something kind of short for a change. If there's any issues with the tense, tell me and I'll fix them! I haven't written in present tense in a long time. The Éponine here isn't much like the ones in my past fics; she's more of a brick!Éponine, who's a tad bit crazy, fairly selfish, and doesn't really have any inhibitions. It's an interpretation of her I've always wanted to try, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

_**Where the Lonely Ones Roam**_

* * *

She first takes notice of him when he breaks up an attempted raid by her father's gang on a house in a nice, bourgeois neighborhood.

He storms up to them seemingly out of nowhere, slithering from the shadows in the same way a snake would slither out from underneath a rock, and the moment he comes into view, her father and his friends panic and scatter like spooked rats. Yet when she sees him, Éponine's first instinct is not to run, though she knows well it ought to be. No, it is simply to look at Javert, to observe this fearsome, omnipresent man who terrifies her in a way no one else in the world can. So for a long moment she looks at him, taking in his rigid posture, his tall, towering form, and the patches of grey that spring up at his temples like weeds in his dark hair, announcing clearly to the world that he is no longer a young man. She sees the way the moonlight catches in his eyes, and however much the sight before her terrifies Éponine, it intrigues her just as much. She has seen him before many times, as she walks the streets at night and he patrols them in silence, and even though her father has oft reminded her that he is her family's worst enemy, she cannot help but be mystified by him. He is not handsome, Éponine thinks to herself as she stands there, alone, with the Inspector only feet away in the dead of night. Not handsome like Marius, the boy who lives in the flat next to hers, but there is a confidence, an unyielding determination about him that attracts her to him in a way she fears she can never explain. The edges of his face are hard and sharp, his nose an odd, crooked shape, yet for reasons she cannot fathom, Éponine can't stop looking at him, in that instant.

Then, all at once, she remembers herself and begins to hurry away from Javert, but he reaches out and grabs hold of her forearm with a force the small girl cannot even hope to combat. His gloved hand is cold – colder than the hand of Death itself, she thinks – and it makes her freeze, every muscle in her body going tense with fear. Just as swiftly, however, panic sinks into her stomach, and she gulps, wondering what on earth he'll see fit to do with her now.

"You," he utters gruffly. As soon as his voice floats to her ears, she becomes still, and he scowls, "You were with them, were you not, girl?"

Éponine swallows, shivering a little as a gust of cold autumn air blows through, but speaking steadily nonetheless, "Yes, monsieur. I was supposed to keep watch."

"Watch for the police?" She nods, and he gives an odd sort of half-scoff, "You did not do a good job of it."

There is a pause, and then, Éponine dares to look up at him, "Are you going to arrest me?"

With a sneer that exposes his large, wolfish teeth, he only shakes his head and releases his hold on her without warning, "There was no crime. No evidence for which you can be convicted. If I arrest you, you'll only waste space in a jail cell." Realizing that bothering with the scrawny girl before him anymore is useless, he growls and waves her away with his hand, irritated, "Be on your way, girl." For a minute she is too stunned to move, until he barks, "Get out of here."

Éponine jumps, blinks a few times, then slowly begins to slink away from him, looking very much like a stray cat prowling down the street after being shooed off the front step. After she is a few feet away from him, she stops, stares at him for a moment, then turns and begins to walk away again. She feels his eyes burning into her back as she strolls on, but she does not dare to turn and look back at him. She only relaxes again once she rounds a corner and is gone, but she is shaken by the encounter for reasons she cannot fully comprehend, and her heart is pounding madly within her chest.

Though perhaps anyone else would have let such a meeting simply slip from their mind, Éponine does not.

She begins to follow him at night as he patrols, traversing the streets silently behind him and watching him with an ever-curious eye. Quickly, Éponine finds herself fascinated by Javert, by the way he carries himself, by the way he shows no emotion, by the way he appears so stoic, so determined. Never before in her life has she seen someone like him, and she grows more and more attracted to him – to this cold, fearsome man who she ought to be avoiding – with each passing day. He does not notice her, she knows, and why would he? She is, after all, nothing but a street rat, the progeny of criminals, and she knows he hates her kind more than anything else. But she cannot help it, and as the weeks pass by, fascination slowly evolves into infatuation for Éponine.

He is old enough to be her father, and he is not handsome. He is not kind, warm, gentle, and he has never given an indication that he could ever be any such thing. He is mean, cruel, the enemy of her father, but every night, as she follows him in silence, she feels a sort of hunger she's never felt before. It is powerful, all-consuming, this hunger to know him, but never once during his patrols at night does she dare approach him. Instead, she grows well acquainted with a Javert she's invented for herself in her mind: one who notices her but does not say a word, one who is intrigued by her as well but does not dare turn back and speak with her. Slowly, she grows more and more enamored by this false ideal, and she thinks often as she trails behind him that she is very much content with simply watching him. He is not very much fun to watch, in truth. On his evening patrols, he does little more than walk on in silence, his stare fixed straight ahead, his route never varying from day to day. Occasionally, he stops and intervenes whenever suspicious activity appears to be occurring in the street, and when he does, she relishes in hearing the sound of his voice, which is deep and menacing, and sends shivers down her spine.

He terrifies her, but as time passes, she finds herself almost ridiculously attracted to the mystery of a man called Inspector Javert.

Not very often does she see him during the daylight hours, but one day, when she, her father, her sister, her mother, and her father's friends are lingering about in a crowded square in Saint-Michel at high noon, planning to distract and pickpocket an old bourgeois couple nearby, he appears – and, as always, he appears out of nowhere. He observes her family with the utmost suspicion, regarding her father through narrowed eyes, and when she sees his gaze pass over her, her heart quickens a little. It is girlish, she knows, and stupid, but once her eyes are fixed on Javert, they do not deviate from him as he stalks about the square, holding his nightstick behind his back with what seems to be a permanent scowl upon his face. Again, she watches, and the pull towards him she feels at that moment leaves her speechless, dizzy. He is so clean, so good, so much unlike the dirt she's lived in all her life, and she yearns at that instant to know him, to know his body and his mind.

After she's been staring at him for a few minutes with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, her sister Azelma strolls over to her and taps her on the shoulder with a frown, "'Ponine? What're you looking at?" Quickly, the younger girl follows her gaze, and her jaw nearly drops when she discovers what her elder sister is staring so intently at, "Why are you looking at Javert like that?" Éponine does not answer, and, bewildered, Azelma tugs on her arm and pulls her aside, "What are you doing?"

"Don't talk so loud, 'Zelma," she hisses, glancing sideways at her father and his gang to ensure they are not listening, "I'm only watching him."

"But why?" Azelma pauses, taking in her sister's pink cheeks with a frown, "You can't think to like him! Are you mad?"

"Perhaps," Éponine concedes, and Azelma scoffs.

"Mad with love, I bet. He's Pa's enemy. He's supposed to be _our_ enemy!"

"But he's tall. Strong," Éponine mutters as she leans against a nearby brick wall and wipes the sweat from her brow, watching Javert as he meanders through the thick crowd, "And he's not dirty like us, you know. He's clean. Not a speck of dust on him."

"He's old," Azelma grimaces, "If Pa found out you've been chasing after him like a dog, he'd have your head."

"I'm not chasing after him like a dog," Éponine snaps, "I just like watching."

Azelma shakes her head, walking away a moment later and murmuring something that sounds like, 'you're crazy,' under her breath.

For a while, Éponine returns to merely looking at him, and after a few minutes have passed, she grows dissatisfied with doing so, and decides to walk by Javert, to see if she'll be able to attract a glance from him and have him take notice of her, if only for a fleeting second. So, with a tiny grin on her face, she raises her chin and struts proudly over to where he stands, brushing against him lightly when she passes by and pretending not to see him when she does. Her actions accomplish their goal, however, and the moment she catches his eye, his hand shoots out and grabs hold of her wrist, effectively halting her in her tracks.

Though her heart ceases altogether to beat for a moment, she turns to him, and, rather calmly, says, "Hello, Inspector."

"You," he snarls, "What is your father planning? You're up to no good here."

She feigns innocence, "Nothing, monsieur. We're only out for a stroll."

He nearly rolls his eyes, avoiding her gaze so that others do not suspect they are speaking with one another, "You follow me at night." Her eyes widen slightly, for she hadn't thought he'd ever seen her, and the Inspector scowls, "I am not blind, girl. Why?"

She gulps, at a loss for words, but recovers quickly and gives him a wry little half-smirk, "Would you believe me, Inspector…if I said that I find you very handsome?" To that, he says nothing, and though she bids it to, not a trace of emotion crosses his face. Hoping to elicit some kind of reaction from Javert, she moves closer to him, wriggling her wrist out of his iron grip and lacing their fingers together with another cheeky grin, "I wish to know you better."

For a brief moment, he does nothing, does not speak or move a muscle, until a loud cry is heard from across the street, "Help! Police, help! I've been robbed!"

Javert tears his eyes from Éponine suddenly, and looks over to find that a middle-aged man and woman, who seem to be of reasonable financial standing, are hurrying after a pack of men who appear to have pickpocketed them. In an instant, Éponine sees that the men are none other than her father and the Patron-Minette, and her heart sinks when Javert roars at her and yanks her close to him roughly by the arm, lowering his face near hers threateningly. He smells of mint and leather, she thinks, and it is an odd yet pleasing combination, but the moment Javert speaks, such thoughts flee her mind.

"You little rat," he spits, "You thought to distract me?"

Her mouth moves without articulating any proper words for a moment, and then, she manages to blurt out, "No, monsieur, I swear-"

"Bah!" he growls, releasing her and storming away without another word, off in the direction in which Patron-Minette have gone.

Stunned, Éponine watches in silence as he disappears around a corner after the men, and then, after a moment, her mother lumbers up to her and claps her on the shoulder with a fat hand and a look of pride on her ugly face, "Good job distracting him, girl. Didn't even have to ask you to. You're gettin' more and more like me every day." Éponine says nothing, glancing up at her mother with a look of indifference, and Mme. Thénardier gives her a smile that exposes all of her cracked, yellow teeth, "I'll see to it you get a bit of that bastard's money. There'll be more than enough to go around, I bet."

Seldom does Éponine ever get such praise from either of her parents, and though under any other circumstances it would've pleased her, now, it feels very much empty to Éponine, and as her mother stalks away after her father and vanishes down the street, a feeling of guilt settles heavily into her stomach.

* * *

Even after that day, she continues to follow him out into the darkness, into the place where the lonely ones like them roam, yet she treads with more caution around Javert, knowing that he is and has perhaps always been aware of her presence behind him as he patrols. Even so, he does not turn around to acknowledge her; he simply stays his course, never once sparing her a glance or a word of greeting. It hurts her, yes, but ever since she'd learned that he has always known she was following him, she finds herself even more hopelessly infatuated with Javert, even more intrigued and bewildered by this man who seems so all-knowing and all-seeing.

So she follows him once more, like she always has.

One night nearly a month after the robbery in the square, however, they come face to face again. It is late at night, and, just as she prepares to find Javert, Éponine passes by a few venders on the street that are cleaning up and preparing to leave. At the sight of the leftover fruit and bread on their stands, her stomach gives a furious growl within her, and so, stealthily, she creeps over to one of them: an old man, who is hunched over beside his stand sweeping the ground. Thinking him an easy target, she slinks toward his stand and crouches beside it, then reaches out and grabs a hunk of bread and an apple in her dirty hands. Just as she does so, however, the man walks back over to his stand, and takes notice of her with a scowl.

"Hey! You! Thief!"

All at once, she shoots to her feet and takes off down the street at so great a speed that the vender cannot even hope to catch her. She is not many things, Éponine thinks to herself with a satisfied smirk, but she is an adept thief indeed, and can outrun nearly anyone who gives chase. After dashing through the streets for five minutes or so, she determines that she is safe from harm and ducks into an alleyway, settling down on the ground to reap the spoils of her thievery. Just as she begins to take a bite of the bread, however, she sees a tall shadow appear beside her out of the corner of her eye, and immediately, Éponine freezes.

Even before the person opens their mouth to speak, she knows it is Javert.

"You," he bites out as he storms toward her and yanks her to her feet, causing the stolen goods to tumble right out of her lap and onto the filthy ground, "You are more trouble than swine like you ought to be."

Though Éponine thrashes about and protests loudly, he locks her wrists and handcuffs and drags her out of the alleyway, leading her back to the police headquarters without saying a word or responding to her loud curses and insults. In that instant, she forgets who he is, forgets what she ever felt for him, and views him once more as simply the enemy, as nothing more than a policeman, a cruel embodiment of the law and of everything she's been taught to hate. Once they reach the station, he drags her down to the cells, still without uttering a word, but, just seconds after he undoes her handcuffs and begins to push her inside, Éponine falls to her knees before him, casting her eyes down to the ground and grasping at his hands desperately.

"Please, Inspector," she pants as she looks up at him, her brown eyes shining through the thickness of the night, "Don't send me to jail. I-I'll do anything." Javert says nothing to that, only making to force her into the tiny cell again, and she shakes her head violently, raising her head to that it is mere inches from the area between his legs, in the hopes she might be able to persuade him otherwise – by whatever means necessary.

"Anything," she repeats, softer this time, and when she fixes her wide-eyed gaze on his groin once more and licks her dry lips, he realizes what she means.

Though Javert can feel her hot breath growing dangerously close to him, the girl's touch has little effect on him, and he hisses, "If you think I will be so easily swayed by sexual favors, you are wrong."

With a smirk, she looks up at him from where she kneels, and tells him in a low, raspy voice that is as seductive as she can make it, "It would not be anything I don't already want to do, monsieur."

When he feels her bring her mouth closer yet to the area between his legs, Javert growls under his breath and pulls her to her feet, "Keep your filthy hands off of me, girl."

Again, he makes to force her into the cell, but she dances out of the way once more, and, daringly, she raises her face to his, shuddering when she feels his hot breath on her cheek. They are so close that she can feel his heart beating beneath his clothing, and the feeling stuns her for a moment, as she supposes she'd long believed Javert has no heart at all. After a second, she recovers from the surprise, and, without hesitating even a moment, she presses her lips down upon his, desperate to know this man, to care and be cared for by someone who is good, moral, clean like him. The kiss is chaste, sudden, and nearly the moment he feels her lips upon his, Javert pushes her away, sending her stumbling backward on shaky knees and nearly losing her balance. It leaves her heart pounding wildly inside her, and in that instant, she feels adrenaline shooting like fire through her veins. He is terrifying to Éponine, yet he thrills her as well, and though a wise person would certainly stay away from the things they fear, Éponine wants nothing more than to do the opposite. She's never been wise anyway, she decides with a wild grin that makes her eyes dance.

"You are mad," Javert tells her with a sneer, and it only makes her grin more, for she knows well that she's always been a little mad, and she doesn't mind it much.

After a tense moment of silence, Javert, fed up with her advances on him, reaches out, grabs her, and finally succeeds in putting her inside her cell, then locks the door and takes a step back, observing the thin creature sitting on the ground before him, who is eyeing him in a way that is most disconcerting. He has known of her father and his gang for years, yet he'd never bothered to take notice of Jondrette's eldest daughter – though, he muses, apparently she has not had any trouble noticing him. He's had many a whore try to offer him sexual favors in return for their release, and he'd long ago steeled himself to their advances, yet there is something girlish and honest about the way she'd pursued him that he finds very odd, and very different from the way the whores had tried to force themselves on him, pressing their bodies up against him hard and uttering vulgar words that would make the saints weep. He is quick to shake such thoughts away, however, but before he is able to turn and walk off, her raspy voice sounds out to stop him.

"You're not like my kind," she tells him softly, her voice holding a lilt of sorrow to it. He stops and turns back to listen to her, and she lowers her eyes, "You're not dirty like us. I think of you often, Inspector. Do you ever think of me?" He does not reply, and she tilts her head to one side, "You say I'm mad? I suppose I am. You're a bit mad, too." He furrows his brow as he listens to her, for the truth in her words is striking, and Éponine moves closer to the iron bars between them, "You will think of me tomorrow, I've decided. You will."

"You cannot mandate what others think," he tells her matter-of-factly, and she shrugs, not bothering to dispute it.

"Maybe," she says as she slinks back into the darkness of her cell and curls up into a ball, picking at the frayed ends of her ragged skirt. Once it is clear to him that the girl has no more to say, he turns and walks away, and all the while, he tries to shake the odd feeling festering deep within him about her, yet it persists despite his best efforts.

And, when the next day dawns, just as she'd predicted, Javert thinks of her, though he does not and perhaps never will know quite why.

* * *

After barely a week, the girl is released.

The old man she'd stolen from ends up being far too senile to identify her, and since there is no other real evidence of her crime, Javert is forced to let her go without a trial or anything of the sort. He stalks down the hall to her cell with a deep scowl on his face because of the fact, and the moment she sees him, her eyes light up, a smile tugging at her lips.

She opens her mouth to speak, but he does so first, "You are to be released." She furrows her brow in confusion, and he continues, "The vender you robbed was scarcely able to remember your crime, and there were no other witnesses." After unlocking her cell door and opening it, he exhales sharply, irritated and confused by the strange girl before him, "Go."

Cautiously, as though she is unsure if this promise of freedom is genuine, she gets to her feet and walks out of the cell, then comes to stand right before him, eyeing him quizzically. For a long moment, he only looks at her, taking in the sight of her slight form, clothed only in rags, her thin face and prominent cheekbones, and her wide, brown eyes that are fixed on him unrelentingly, never once deviating from him.

After thinking for a minute, she asks, "May I kiss you, Inspector?"

Javert says nothing; he hasn't the slightest idea how to properly reply, for he's never found himself posed with such a question. He's never met anyone who is as forward and as honest as this girl who calls herself Éponine, and her blunt question takes him aback – a feat which is hard to accomplish, as little surprises him nowadays. Few women have ever shown even a passing fancy toward him, and the idea that this girl – who is little more than a child – is so fascinated by him feels very disconcerting to Javert. As he thinks, Éponine takes his silence as an affirmation and moves closer to him, leaning forward all at once and capturing his lips with hers once more before he has time to resist. She kisses him tentatively, slowly, and though she feels him tense up as their lips meet, he does not push her away for a minute. Éponine's head is spinning, her body on fire from being so close to him. She does not know just what it is, but she's almost unbearably attracted to him at that moment, and a quiet noise somewhere in between a moan and a gasp escapes her before she can stifle it. Just as quickly as she kisses him, however, she pulls away, breathless and looking at him as though she thinks he means to strike her for daring to get so close to him.

Yet he says nothing, and his face is as impassive as it always is, and though Éponine cannot say she understands how he appears so indifferent, she makes no mention of it, instead saying only, "Farewell, monsieur."

With that, Éponine turns and is gone, walking down the corridor with a little hop in her step and leaving a bemused and exasperated Javert in her wake.

* * *

They do not speak again for the rest of winter and the entirety of spring. She still follows him, though not every day as she used to, for her father and Patron-Minette had begun to grow suspicious of why she disappeared every night and did not return for hours. Still, she thinks of him most every day, often daydreaming while keeping watch for the police on raids with the Patron-Minette and letting her mind wander to thoughts of Javert. She thinks of him far too much for her own good, Azelma says, but Éponine cannot help it – and even if she could, she tells her sister, she doesn't want to.

Though she does not know it, Javert thinks of her as well on occasion, and the thoughts of her seem to him to be pesky gnats swirling around his head, trivial and insignificant, but not entirely ignorable, either.

They meet again at the start of summer, on a hot afternoon in front of General Lamarque's home where a large protest is taking place. Éponine, having little interest in political matters, only follows Javert as he meanders about the crowd, eyeing them cautiously and preparing to intervene if the protest grows violent. Javert is far from ignorant to her presence, but he does nothing about it, instead carrying on with his business and paying little mind to Éponine, who trails behind him like a neglected puppy. After a while, he stops and stands still in the crowd, looking up at the group of students who are leading the riot with a scowl. Javert has an odd feeling about them, these boys who dare denounce the government so vociferously, almost as if he can sense they will cause him trouble, and he does not like it. He has no more time to dwell on his thoughts, however, for Éponine appears at his side suddenly, looking over at him with a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

"What are you doing here?" he asks lowly without looking at her. She does not answer, and after a moment, he does so for her, "You followed me."

"I did," she nods, "You're hard to keep away from, Inspector."

"I do not know what you hope to gain by pursuing me," he states bluntly.

She chooses to ignore his words, "What are you doing around here?"

Javert frowns, hesitating to tell her for a moment, then finally says, "There is trouble brewing in the streets. I am here to maintain order."

Éponine folds her arms, looking around and finding Marius standing on the front steps of the General's home. She furrows her brow, "I know him." Javert follows her gaze, narrowing his eyes at the boy she speaks of, "He lives in the flat next to mine. His name is Marius."

"These students are dangerous. It would be wise for you to stay away from them," he grunts, and she nods her assent, not very much concerned for the boy before her.

"I never cared much about politics." There are silent for a moment, and then, she glances over at him with a raised eyebrow, "Am I to stay away from you too, Inspector?"

Javert resists the urge to roll his eyes at her, "Even if I told you to, I doubt you would obey."

She chuckles under her breath, then abruptly becomes solemn, "I heard Marius talking about it the other day. He said the General's sick, and that his friends are planning a revolt."

"Whatever it is, it will be squashed," Javert growls.

"What will you do?"

"I will infiltrate their revolution if I must, and nip it in the bud before it becomes any more bothersome."

"Did you think of me, like I said?" she asks suddenly, catching him slightly off guard.

Javert shifts his weight from one leg to another, "You pester me often. It would be difficult not to."

Éponine turns to him then, and moves closer to Javert, who is still not facing her entirely or looking her in the eyes. She tilts her head to one side, giving him one of her familiar half-grins, "I like the way you talk, monsieur. I know you do not care for me much." She pauses, looking sorrowful for a moment, but she brightens up quickly and chirps, "Perhaps one day you will."

He shakes his head, and begins to turn away from her, "I must be on my way."

Just as he starts to walk away, however, Éponine calls out after him, "I will see you tonight, Inspector."

Javert, meanwhile, pretends not to hear her, and simply continues on his way.

* * *

After that, everything happens quickly. General Lamarque dies. The students plan their revolt for the day of his funeral. Javert, knowing he must serve his country, prepares himself to go undercover and topple the revolution from the inside. And, after hearing of the students' plans from Marius and knowing that Javert will almost certainly be there, Éponine decides to go to the barricades as well, binding her breasts, dressing herself in a lad's trousers, coat, and shirt, and finally tucking her hair up into a loose-fitting cap.

She goes to the street on which Lamarque's funeral processions will be and slips into the crowd unnoticed, but all the while, her eyes flit from person to person, searching for Javert. After a few minutes, she finds him, clad in a long, grey coat and a hat that extends down to cover one of his eyes, but she does not alert him of her presence at first, knowing he will try to shoo her away if she does. Instead, she waits until the street has descended into chaos and the students have fled to their barricade to go near him, and even then, she does not speak to him, keeping her distance and watching him wordlessly as he joins the students. He blends in rather well, she thinks, and he goes about his business in silence, helping stack the furniture that is being thrown from windows above into a pile. Once she sees him stop what he is doing for a moment, she hurries over to him and taps him on the shoulder lightly. Worried that he has been recognized, Javert spins around, but he does not relax even slightly when he recognizes who is stood before him.

"Good God. What are you doing here?" he hisses lowly, so as to keep the others around them from hearing.

"I came to be with you," she tells him matter-of-factly, as though it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You are a fool. It is not safe for you to be here. Go, girl, and get somewhere safe. There will be danger in the streets tonight."

She folds her arms and smiles, "You're worried about me now, you are. See, Inspector, I knew you liked me."

"Be quiet," he exhales sharply, "The students here cannot know who I am."

She takes the hint, and lowers her voice, "You're a spy then?"

"Yes. I am," he growls, "Now leave me be and do not trouble me further."

Hurt by his rejection but unwilling to let her spirits be dampened, Éponine obeys, vanishing into the crowd after a moment and helping the boys build the barricade as best she can. Still, her gaze remains fixed on Javert as she goes about her work, and she watches with a frown as he volunteers to go and spy on the National Guard to see if he can learn something of their plans. It does not take Éponine long to realize what he is doing, but, knowing that she cannot do anything but annoy him now, she hangs back at the barricade and watches him go. She yearns to follow him, but she knows, somehow, that she ought not do so, and so she picks up a rifle and begins to clean it, blending in as well as she can for the time being.

It is nightfall when he returns, and her heart quickens a little when she sees him slip back behind the barricade and approach the students. When he begins to speak to the boys, Éponine does not really listen, but she knows that he is almost certainly giving them some kind of false information about the Nation Guard's planned attack and trying to fool them into letting down their guard.

However, when another voice sounds out from on top of the barricade, Javert and Éponine both freeze, "Liar!"

It all happens quickly after that, so quickly that Éponine can barely comprehend what is going on around her. The boy – Gavroche, her brother – ousts Javert's identity. Javert tries to run, but fails miserably and is easily captured by the students, who then proceed to take him to a nearby tavern and tie him to a chair. All the while, Éponine watches helplessly, terrified of what will become of the man for whom she's come to care so much but not daring to speak up for him. Then, in the blink of an eye, the fighting begins, and Éponine reluctantly joins in, but never dares to get too close, for fear a stray bullet will come her way. After one of the students threatens to blow the barricade by igniting a keg of gunpowder, the National Guard draws back, and an eerie hush settles over the barricade. Just as Éponine is creeping toward the tavern to seek out Javert, though, she hears the students cry out as an old man wearing a National Guard uniform approaches the barricade and slips behind it.

But she pays no mind to them, continuing on towards the tavern, peeking inside, and finding Javert tied to a chair in the corner and attempting to worm his way out of his bindings. Instead of appearing concerned for him, however, she strolls up to him and raises an eyebrow, "You've gotten yourself into quite a predicament, monsieur."

Javert rolls his eyes, "You are here to mock me, girl? If you care for me so much, for Christ's sake, untie me."

Éponine hesitates, then tells him, "If I do, you must do something for me first."

"What?" he demands, narrowing his eyes as she strolls over to where he sits and cocks her head to one side.

"Kiss me."

Again, Javert rolls his eyes, vexed by this odd girl who barters with kisses instead of money, "You are absurd-"

"All right," she turns and pretends to leave, "Then I'll just be on my way."

"Stop," he orders, and she obeys with a satisfied little grin, happy to have him just where she wants him. Though he is furious, Javert takes a deep breath and manages to utter calmly, "Very well. Come here."

Just as she begins to walk back over to him, however, they hear footsteps outside the tavern, and Éponine freezes when the leader of the students, Enjolras, steps inside with the old man dressed in the National Guard uniform. Both eye her strangely, and Enjolras is quick to ask, "What are you doing here, monsieur?"

She clears her throat, lowering her voice as much is she is able and bowing her head slightly, "Keeping an eye on the prisoner. Wouldn't want him escaping."

Enjolras does not seem to doubt her for a moment, and instead he turns to the old man and hands him a pistol, nodding at Javert, "Do what you must, monsieur."

Confused, Éponine watches as the old man unties Javert from the chair and leads him outside, holding the pistol firmly in his hand. She does not dare interfere, and when the two men disappear into the alley, Éponine follows quietly, observing from a distance the scene playing out before her. She cannot hear what they are saying, but she can tell, somehow, that this man has great significance to Javert, and she can only wonder just what it is. After a few minutes, she sees the older man remove a knife from his pocket, take a step toward Javert, and cut the ropes binding his hands, setting him free without a word. Still, she watches in silence as they exchange more words, and then, Javert begins to back away from the man, a look of utter bewilderment plain to see on his face. She's never seen him look anything less than stoic, and it surprises her to see him look so uncertain and stunned. Once Javert turns his back and begins to walk away, the old man raises the pistol and fires a single shot into the air. The Inspector glances back briefly, his eyes wider than she's ever seen them, then hurries off, disappearing around a corner.

And, as always, Éponine follows him.

He walks the streets slowly, with a heaviness in his step that Éponine has never seen before, and for a time, she does not make him aware of her presence. There is something off about him, she thinks, though she doesn't know just what it is. After a few minutes of saying nothing, she quickens her pace and hurries up to him, deciding she has tired of simply watching him as she's done so many times before.

"Inspector?" she calls out, but he does not turn around to face her or give any indication that he's heard her. She exhales sharply, placing a hand on his shoulder and urging him to turn and look at her, "Inspector!"

"Leave me be," his voice is raspy, low, weaker than she's ever heard it, and the sudden weariness about him catches her off guard. When she does not comply, he raises his voice and glares at her, "Be gone."

"What's going on? Who was that man? Why did he let you go?"

All at once, he takes a menacing step toward her and grabs hold of her forearm tightly, "I've no need to answer to you. I do not care for you as you care for me, girl. If you must watch me, watch me, but do not bother me again."

Hurt by his words but refusing to show it, she shakes her head, "You say I bother you, monsieur, but I don't think you mean it."

At that, he growls and begins to stalk away, not paying any mind to her when she scurries after him. After only a few short minutes, they arrive at Pont-au-Change over the River Seine, and Javert approaches the parapet unsteadily, leaning against it and looking down into the river with a deep, contemplative scowl. Éponine, unsettled by the way he appears to be so deep in thought whilst looking down at the rushing waters, stays back for a moment, demanding to know what he is doing, but he does not answer.

The moment she sees him begin to climb up onto the parapet, however, she springs into action, wrapping her thin arms around him and yanking him backwards, "What are you going to do? Jump? Are you mad?"

Instead of raising his voice, however, Javert lowers it, and he ends up sounding far more desolate than he would like, "Must I tell you again? Leave me be."

She furrows her brow when an idea comes to her, suddenly. Then, after a moment of silence passes between them, she swallows and tells Javert, "Come with me. You're not thinking straight."

He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment as a wave of exhaustion overcomes him, "No."

"Come on," she urges, and all at once, Javert finds that he hasn't the strength to fight her when she's so determined to get what she wants. His mind is overwhelmed, boggled, and he can hardly see straight anymore, so weary is he. Daringly, Éponine loops her arm through his and begins to guide him back to her family's flat, a devious plan forming in the back of her mind. He is far too tired to fight her off or refuse her now, she thinks, and this may be perhaps her only chance to get what she wants.

And she wants him.

So she leads him down the empty streets, and he does not say a word or ask where they are going; he only follows, his eyelids drooping and his footsteps heavy. Éponine's heart is pounding, her head spinning, but she appears outwardly calm as they reach the Gorbeau House and she leads him up a creaky flight of stairs. The flat is empty; her mother and father are off planning to scavenge whatever valuables they can from the corpses of the students that will inevitably litter the streets by morning, and she knows Azelma is likely with them, as they wait to pick at the dead bodies like vultures. Once they've both stepped inside the flat, Éponine closes the door behind them and strolls over to the corner to light a tiny fire in the hearth, with the few bits of wood her sister had been able to scourge up the day before.

Just as she crouches down to poke at the fire, Javert demands, "Why have you brought me here?"

Overjoyed to have him here with her, Éponine gets to her feet and strolls over to him with a smirk that makes her brown eyes narrow with lust in the darkness. When she speaks, her voice is low, throaty, "You're tired. Lie down." Then, she brings her face closer to his, ghosting her lips across his lips and feeling her heart flutter within her chest, "Come lie down with me, Inspector."

Without waiting another second, she seizes his lips with hers forcefully, placing a hand upon his shoulder and holding tightly onto him. She pulls him towards her with a strength that is surprising for a girl who is so slight of form, but Javert finds that, though he longs to pull away, he cannot do so. His limbs feel heavy, his body numb, and his tongue feels cold, cottony, as though any words he would try to speak would turn out garbled, incomprehensible. He has no strength left, and though she does not know why he is in such a state, she has no desire to bring it up. She does not want to talk.

He is weak and weary now, and he is right where she wants him, and although she knows it is selfish, she is willing to do whatever it takes to have him.

She breaks away from their kiss with a grin, sliding her hands underneath his coat and removing it from his body, and watching contentedly as it falls into a crumpled heap on the ground. Then, she takes his hand and eagerly leads him over to the small cot in the corner of the room which she and Azelma share, and gingerly pushes him down upon it. Too tired to object, Javert lets himself fall, and once he has, he stares up blankly at the ceiling, not acknowledging Éponine as she approaches him. Thoughts are churning within his mind as fast as the waters of the River Seine, and he is only barely aware of it when Éponine straddles him and hungrily places her mouth upon his neck, sucking and biting at his skin and moaning quietly as she does so. She, meanwhile, is in heaven, for the man she's chased after for so long is finally hers, and though the victory is slightly soured because she knows he does not want her in return, she chooses to disregard the fact.

"See, monsieur," she breathes into his ear after a moment, "I knew you liked me after all."

He says nothing, and as she captures his lips once more, she feels a sudden rush of blood in between her legs that makes her gasp. She is far from innocent; she's had more than a few men in her time, and she knows what to do to a man to please him, what parts of him to touch, how to kiss him. So she rocks her hips gently against his, grinding against him and nearly moaning aloud in satisfaction again when she feels him begin to grow hard beneath her. He cannot help it; he does not want or desire her at all, really, but it is his body's natural response to the touch of a woman, and he is far too exhausted to care, or try to fight off the urges that, he supposes, plague all humans – even he himself. Éponine's kisses grow more and more desperate as time passes, and when she feels a gentle throbbing begin in the area where her thighs meet, she decides that she wishes to wait no longer. She has never desired a man like she desires him, she thinks in the back of her mind, and it is nice, she decides, to have a man in her bed that is clean, unsullied and untainted by poverty like she is.

"You do want me," she rasps as she feels his hardness burgeoning beneath her, "Oh, I knew you did."

It occurs to Javert, all at once, that the girl on top of him really is mad. She's deluded herself into believing that he truly desires her, and for a moment, he pities Éponine, for it seems to him that her life is so devoid of love that she's had to invent it for herself in her head. He has no more time to ponder such things, however, for only a minute later, he feels her little hands start to fiddle with his trousers, unbuttoning them and freeing his erection from its fabric confines. At the sight of his manhood, she nearly grins; he is far larger than any man she's ever had before, and she yearns to feel him inside of her, to feel his body at one with hers as she's wanted for so long.

For a moment, she wonders what her father would say if he knew what she was doing on this night, and she almost laughs aloud at the thought.

Her breathing picks up, and the atmosphere in the room grows heavier when she begins to unbutton her own trousers, tossing them aside as she frantically removes the barriers of clothing between them. Then, her hands go for her shirt, and she nearly rips it off of her body, tossing the dirty thing aside and leaving her covered only in the coarse fabric with which she'd bound her breasts. Unmoving, Javert watches beneath Éponine as she locks her eyes on his with a coy grin, then slowly begins to unwind the material until the gentle mounds of her breasts lay exposed to him as well, illuminated by the moonlight. Knowing that he won't consent to do it himself, she takes one of Javert's rough, calloused hands, and, boldly, brings it to her left breast, curling his fingers in her hand so that he is cupping it. She tips her head back at the feeling, and, with a low moan, breathes frantically, "Touch me. Touch me, please…"

Javert does not move his hand. He does nothing at all. He does not urge her on or tell her to stop, and it makes Éponine frown.

But, she tells herself, surely he must want this too, else he would be pushing her off of him, and he's done no such thing. So, encouraged, she continues, letting his hand fall to the side and moving her hands down to take hold of his member. For a moment she runs her hands over it, hoping to draw some kind of reaction out of him, but all he does is close his eyes and remain silent, which irritates her greatly. The heat and wetness between her legs is nearly unbearable now, and so, deciding not to wait any longer, she positions herself over his hardness and eases herself down onto it with a loud gasp, her entire body shivering on top of him. His passage is eased by the juices of her arousal, yet there is still pain for a moment, but she does not stop, so eager is she to have him. Instead, she begins to move back and forth, riding him with a sort of desperate urgency and ignoring the faint pain that radiates out from her core. She yearns to know the deepest, darkest parts of him, to know his body in ways few others have, and the pleasure she feels as he enters her draws a low, hoarse moan from her throat. She has wanted him for so long, and now that she finally has him, she can hardly believe how immense her pleasure is, in that instant. He is a good, fine, moral man, she thinks, and he wants her. Yes, out of all the other women in Paris, he wants her, she thinks, and she smiles a wide smile that exposes all of her yellow teeth. Below her, Javert is silent. He watches her as she rides him with a look of indifference, looking on as her body trembles with every move she makes, yet he cannot say he does not feel any pleasure at all – because he does, though it is unwanted. Still, his mind is reeling, his thoughts flying off in all directions, and he is so overwhelmed by thought that it is clear to Éponine that his mind is not present in this moment. His body is here yet he is not – but, again, she ignores the fact, pretending instead that his pleasure is as great as hers, that they are climbing towards the pinnacle of all ecstasy together.

She begins to ride him faster as the pressure within her builds, moving in a sort of circle on top of him and sighing as she feels him fit all sides of her, filling her tight sex and swelling within her. Briefly, she leans down and places a heated kiss upon his lips, delving her tongue deep inside as if trying to absorb the very essence of him, but his lips are cold, unresponsive to hers. Her pace picks up even more, until he is plunging so fast in and out of her that a constant stream of cries and moans tumble from her lips. Javert feels the pressure within him building as well, and, as she quickens her speed, he reluctantly admits to himself that he is far too weak, now, to steel himself to the pleasure, to her touch. Finally, after another minute passes in this manner, he gives into his body's sinful urges and comes, clenching his jaw and groaning lowly as pleasure burns like pain in his stomach – and the moment Éponine hears him, she climaxes as well, shuddering hard on top of him and struggling to stay upright. Her mind is up amongst the clouds, her body overcome by ecstasy; never before in her life has she felt such bliss, and she is so happy at that moment that she can scarcely draw breath.

"Oh…" she pants, then, for the first time, dares to let his name pass through her lips, "_Javert_."

Far too quickly for her liking, her climax ebbs and fades away, and she falls down beside him on the uncomfortable little pallet after a minute. The moonlight pours in on them from a small window above, and when it shines on Javert's face, she sees how apathetic he really looks to her, and scowls. But she does not let it bother her for long, and she is quick to lift up one of his strong arms and wrap it around her body, nestling herself into him, taking in his odd, minty scent, and escaping from reality for an ever-fleeting second, forgetting in that moment who he is, and who she is. She lies there in blissful silence for a while, overjoyed to have his arms around her, to have his body at one with hers, at last. For the first time, she feels truly adored, wanted, and as she lies there, happily deluded, Javert closes his eyes and exhales slowly. The girl beside him matters little, he thinks with a frown, but he is far too tired to get up and leave though he despises the touch of filth like her. He is exhausted, largely indifferent to what they've just done; he does not care, but he says nothing, knowing that it will shatter this poor girl's fantasy, which appears to mean the world to her.

In truth, he's never seen another person look as happy as she looks in that instant, and so he stays silent and chooses to spare her from reality, if only for the remainder of this night.

After a long while, she asks, "Do you want to know something, Inspector?" He does not answer, nor does he look her way, but she continues with a grin nonetheless, "I think… that I may be a little bit in love with you."

Again, he says nothing, and she sighs contentedly, "Will you be here in the morning, when I awake?"

For a third time, Javert says nothing.

He makes no promises.

* * *

When Éponine awakes in the morning, he is gone. In truth, she cannot say she expected him to stay.

Fearing that he has returned to the bridge and ended his life as he'd tried to the night before, she goes to the Pont-au-Change to search for some sign of him, but there is none, and somehow, she knows, if he's ended his life here, then he would've left something behind: his hat, his coat, some trinket of his. Yet there is nothing on the parapet, and she knows, then, that he is not dead.

And so, her heart full of hope, she searches for him, but it is in vain. When night falls she returns to the streets they'd walked together so many times when she'd followed him on his patrols, but he is not there, and the only pedestrians about are the shadows of the night. Desperate, she goes to the police headquarters to ask after him a week after the barricades fall, and though the clerk regards her suspiciously, she learns from him that he is gone. No one knows why or where he's gone; he vanished without a trace the day after the revolt, and has not been seen since.

Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps he is alive. Yet all Éponine knows is that he is gone.

She has nothing left of him but his scent on her skin and the imprint of his body on her little cot, and for a while, she is stricken with grief, certain that she will never love another as she loved him. Her fallacy lies shattered all around her. He did not love her, or even care for her. He hadn't wanted to lie with her that night. He'd never regarded her as anything more than a minor annoyance, and it pains her to face the harsh truth. Time passes for Éponine, however, and life goes on. Just as all infatuations do, eventually, the mystery of a man called Javert begins to fade from her thoughts, until she hardly thinks of him at all from day to day.

Yes, he fades from her thoughts, yet she never forgets him entirely, and some nights, as she lies awake on the cot upon which they'd made love that night, she imagines what she would say to him, if they ever met again.

"I missed you, Inspector," she'll say, her eyes wide and perhaps still full of hope that he had missed her, too. They will stand a fair distance away from one another as they speak, never getting too close or looking one another in the eyes for too long. After a moment, she will ask, "Did you miss me?"

He will say nothing. They both know it means no.

She will only shrug, "I still think of you, sometimes. And I remember how it felt that night, your arms around me. I was happy, you know. You made me happy." She will smile, then, "You weren't like the men I'd had before. You were good. Clean. I wish-"

"I was not thinking clearly," he will cut her off with a frown, "It was a mistake."

"It didn't feel like a mistake to me." Again, she'll smile, and for a moment, there will be silence between them. Then, she will say, "I meant what I said, when I said that I loved you. I think maybe I still do, a little. Tell me, Inspector…" She will look up at him with wide eyes and tilt her head to one side, and then, in a voice that is soft and innocent like a child's, she'll ask, "Do you think you ever could've loved me, too?"

Once more, Javert will not reply.

For that, he will have no answer.

* * *

_**FIN.**_


End file.
